Simon Cowell rates Smooth Operator
on 2/3/2004 (11)
The flight to Detroit was a tense one. The Smooth Operator crew would soon face that critic's critic, Simon Cowell.
|"Smooth Operator: Quite possibly the worst website in the world" |
I never have liked flying much, and it's a hell of a lot harder when you're flying fourth class, (yes, there is such a thing, at least from my poured-in perspective). I tried to squeeze my feet under the seat in front of me, and wound up with a chimichanga and a diet 7-up in my lap, neither of which were mine.
"Dammitt, Kris! You could have at least have sprung for economy! Christ, they're going to have to peel me outta my seat with a pair of oven mitts when we land!"
Smooth Operator writer Jennifer Smithson agreed:
"Yeah, Kris. It wouldn't have killed you to spend a few extra bucks!"
Smooth Operator founder Kris Steele rose a few feet above his spacious first class seat, sputtering through a mouthfull of Moet champagne and beluga caviar:
"Shaddup you bums!...when you guys start writing stories with more evolved plots than a Lite Beer commercial, we'll talk! Now shaddup and pipe down!!"
I resigned myself to a gravy stained copy of Ebony magazine for the rest of the flight, and prepared myself mentally for what was to come.
"American Idol" judge Simon Cowell was now rating web sites, and we were first on the list. We drove through downtown Detroit in anxious silence, all of us painfully aware of Simon's caustic critical style. Finally we arrived at the Detroit Hilton, and an hour later found ourselves in front of the man you love to hate, Simon Cowell himself.
I was first. Reading through some of my recent posts, Simon looked up, scratching his head.
"Mr. Motz...You have to stop this silly dream, because this silly dream is becoming a nightmare. You compare your writing style to The Onion's, and that is true in one aspect only...when I read your work it made me want to cry."
Shell shocked, I sat down next to Paris Hilton of pinkywinky.com, who was holding her head in her hands and weeping softly. Paris looked up tearfully:
"A-at least he called you a Mr.!"
Jennifer Smithson was next.
"Jennifer, I have 3 words for you...no...no...no. I'm sorry, but did I say NO?!"
Jennifer swabbed a tear and sat down, clutching a handkerchief and rocking like Sybill.
"There's no place like home...there's no place like home..."
Kris Steele was next.
Simon shuffled through a few pages, peevishly tossing them into a nearby trash can.
"Kris...I don't know how to say this, but you are the equivalent of a literary sleeping tablet. You are the worst writer in America, and your website is quite possibly the worst website in the world."
Whoops...I saw the veins bugging up on Kris's forhead. I hadn't seen him this pissed since I asked him for free e-mail access.
"I'm not takin' this crap! You dissed my crew...and while I'm not entirely out of tune with that...you dissed ME!"
Steele lunged, side stepping a security guard, connecting a solid right uppercut to Cowell's jaw. Cowell reeled. Steele shifted his weight and followed with a left cross that sent Simon careening into a Microsoft job recruitment stand. With security hot on our tails, we hustled back to the tram and onto our flight. Once in the air, we all looked at Steele admiringly.
"Y-you're the best, Kris. You stood up for us. No-one ever did that for us before. You punched out Simon Cowell...we..."
Blushing, Steele brushed off o
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